那漂浮在枕边的世界,正以莫可名状的纠结之态呈现。我厘不清它们的章节,区分不出哪一头是起始哪一头才是终结。又仿佛被盗开了棺椁的洞穴,支离破碎在记忆的最底层。在将自己完整地挖出之前,生命有太多神秘的启示在等着我以冥想去探知。而我要在这个过程里忍受冷,不可点燃火把,那些潮湿的事物很可能是启事最重要的部分。那么,就让它们粘附在我的头发上,眼睫上,还要允许霉斑长到骨缝里,允许白纸黑字的刺,在心口划出湿漉漉的血痕。 The world floating on the pillow is showing up in a tangled manner. I can not clarify their chapters, and I can not distinguish between the beginning and the end. Also as if stolen open coffin cave, fragmented in the memory of the bottom. There are so many mystical revelations of life waiting to be discovered by meditation before it is completely excavated. And I will endure the cold in this process, can not ignite the torch, damp things that may be the most important part of the story. Then, let them stick to my hair, eyelashes, but also to allow the mold to grow into the bone crevices, allowing black and white paper spikes, in the heart of the wet blood strokes drawn.